


a cup of tea (yes please)

by goddammitshauna



Series: 3am thoughts and 3pm regrets. [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Fiction, Original work - Freeform, Other, Prose Poem, shauna writes something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitshauna/pseuds/goddammitshauna
Summary: sometimes, you just need to have a nice lil chat.





	a cup of tea (yes please)

A pristine wooden door creaks open, revealing an equally pristine office.  
Lacquered oak wood flooring devoid of any scratches or spills, tastefully garnished by a simple selection of furniture - a maroon rug, black leather couch, glass side table and dark wood desk with matching wheely chair.  
The white exposed brick walls in the neat little office remain as clean as ever, minimal wall art lest for the 2 plaques nailed proudly behind the desk, shining in all their glory.  
The room let minimal light in, the 2 tiny windows adjacent to the desk currently half blocked by simple white blinds, half shut in half slumber.

Eyes glancing over to the centerpiece of the room, they sat in the wheely chair, all dolled up in suit and tie, pen and clipboard in hand, occasionally twirling said pen, precariously balancing it on their fingertips as it broke out in frenzied pirouettes.  
Brows furrowed immersed in thought until the catch and creak of the wooden door snaps them back to their plane of existence. A sigh, a smile and a polite have a seat, I'm nestled back into the black leather couch, into a familiar back indent I've made. 

"the usual?" I nod,  
A stainless steel kettle and an array of tea bags are produced from behind the desk, they pluck out two sachets of a familiar blend.  
A minute and a half later, two splashes of sugar and milk, the clinking of glassware against metal, a familiar aroma fills the familiar space.  
"so what happened this time?" they gently inquire, voice as viscous as the honey they had lying on the tea tray. 

It’s always hardest to start. No one likes to feel exposed, vulnerable, helpless.  
That’s why i’m here though, they continued to probe, poking holes into my steely facade,  
The dam cracks, it crumbles, wet concrete willing to meld itself together, it breaks.  
Water and words spilled onto the maroon carpet, at least it wasn’t the same red as the blasted carpet, pent-up shouts and held back words now tumbled clumsily onto the stupid carpet, i never liked that shade anyway.  
The pen dances in a furious tango, leaping from one edge of the page to the next, the hand bearing the pen never faltering, always constant as the two partook in a twisted duet.  
An hour and a half later, my mouth is emptied dry, I've reinforced my couch indent and the tea has long gone, the pen and hand bow in thanks, two empty boxes of tissues lie at my feet.

The evening sun flittering through the building’s eyes burn into my own, signaling how long i’ve actually spent here, a new record. I do feel better now, but sometimes it feels like i’ll never get better. We make some small talk as i calm myself down, the teacup re-filling and emptying itself again. They never impose, they never dig further than necessary, they always end up giving some life to the flame. 

The same evening sun extinguishes in a snap, they rise from the wheely chair, stretching up as they stride over to their desk,  
"The same prescription this time, but I hope you don’t show up too often, try to enjoy your time out there yes? " their familiar chastising tone as they slide me the familiar blister pack of pills.  
"you're not wearing sleeves, that's an improvement but please live your life more" they sigh with finality as I'm ushered out of the familiar bare brick room, shoes clacking on the lacquered wood floor.  
I give a small wave with a hint of promise, the door closes. 

It's cold.  
I wake with a shiver on my bathroom tiles, the warmth of the tea gone from my bloodstream.  
The box rests heavy in my hands as I shakily rise and put them away into the cabinets.  
Retrieving the strewn pill bottle on the floor, I chuck it into the bin and wash up.  
Therapy isn't so bad, I guess. 

++

"Sleeping pills  
\- max dosage 0.5mg (approx 2 pills)  
\- bottle contents : 30" 

Then there were 3.

**Author's Note:**

> HEYO SHAUNA HERE  
> This is an original work I've had floating around in my Google drive for a while, so why not publish it, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Till next~


End file.
